


embroidered

by janie_tangerine



Series: silken [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Canon Universe, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Dirty Talk, Dresses, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Hair Braiding, Idiots in Love, Lace Panties, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Service Top Jaskier | Dandelion, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, geralt Has Issues I guess, have the dress porn, jaskier is definitely running for best boyfriend of the century, oops i did it again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: in which Jaskier buys a gown and Geralt has feelings about it. Also, they make excellent use of it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: silken [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666174
Comments: 54
Kudos: 727
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	embroidered

**Author's Note:**

> ... HI AGAIN so I said the dress sequel was extremely likely, I went for it, IT SPIRALED OUT OF CONTROL. Also this entire thing has no other redeeming quality other than what it says on the tin so I hope you enjoy the coronavirus quarantine fueled dress porn because sure as hell I was having a grand time with it considering where the wordcount ended up. ;) 
> 
> Other than that, nothing belongs to me, I'm sticking with a theme for the titles and yes this is apparently a series now because I left a window open in case I want to push this further later this week *cough* wejustdontknow *cough* and I'll saunter back downwards now.

“I imagine your partner was satisfied with your previous purchases?”

Jaskier can’t keep his mouth from turning into a smile as he nods towards the tailor, slipping a bag of coin with… well. Most of his earnings of the last few days, which were at least _plenty_ , thanks to Geralt’s excellent timing during his latest performance. He’ll have to work triple to replenish it, but it’s going to be _so_ worth it, he doesn’t regret it for one second.

“She was indeed extremely satisfied,” Jaskier nods, “and we’ll be here for the next three days or so. Which means that _all_ the coin in this purse is yours if you can deliver me a nice dress by then.”

The tailor opens the bag, counting, and Jaskier can see that he’s evaluating having to overwork for enough money to feed himself for a month, and it doesn’t take him very long to nod back and put the bag in a nearby drawer.

“Very well,” he says, “ _that_ will definitely cover for both my fee _and_ a quality garment. I will need your beloved’s measurements, of course. And I imagine you would like to share… ideas when it comes to the silks and the design itself?”

“My friend,” Jaskier grins back, “I _cannot wait_.”

\--

It takes him one hour of looking through various silks and satins of various shades and of the tailor showing him various designs for dresses imagined for ladies without _typical curves_ and of a taller height than usual, but when he leaves the shop after a firm handshake he’s more than satisfied with his purchase. Oh, he cannot _wait_ to see how Geralt will look - he _might_ have decided to go all in and commission the type of gown he sees at royal balls rather than something frilly and simple like the one belonging to that maid that Geralt _had_ stared at longingly, but he doesn’t see the point in stalling, not when he knows Geralt agreed to it. He never was the kind of person who likes to do things halfway, after all.

That evening, Geralt does not, sadly, have the same excellent timing as the last because he comes back from another odd job he found way after Jaskier’s set is done, but it apparently wasn’t the taxing kind of contract because when he comes back in he’s only covered in dust and doesn’t even have a scratch on him.

“Easy job?” Jaskier asks as Geralt closes the door.

“Wasn’t even one,” Geralt mutters after putting his swords down to the ground. “Some regular wolf eating chickens around a few farms, it just took a while for it to show up.”

Jaskier immediately knows that Geralt refused payment for it - he always does, for that kind of job. He’s about to prod for information when his throat goes dry instead, because Geralt has also taken off his armor with a few practiced moves, putting it gently in the corner, and as he did it his shirt was untucked from his leather trousers, and he saw that sliver of teal silk again, and _fuck_ but it’s still the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his entire life _not_ counting last night, and he has to clear his throat three times before he can manage to speak.

“Well,” he says, “I earned a bit of coin downstairs, though really, we need you to show up _during_ the set more times because that certainly worked like a charm when it came to double the usual earnings, but I wanted to let you know that I _did_ commission what we discussed.”

Geralt stops in the middle of removing one of his boots and _almost_ crashes down on the floor, to the point that he has to hang to the wall to avoid losing his balance.

“Wait,” he says after he gets both out, moving towards the bed, “you mean… _that_ purchase?”

He stops in front of Jaskier, and shit, the fact that he’s standing when Jaskier’s sitting and is therefore facing his crotch is _damn_ distracting, especially with that sliver of teal still showing -

Jaskier slowly reaches up and rubs his thumb over the silk, forcing it out of the leather a bit, and he can feel Geralt’s breath hitching the moment he does it.

“ _That_ one,” he agrees, “and I’m told it will be ready in three days’ time as we agreed, so if I were you I would _not_ take any contracts for when I go collect it, because I really don’t think I can wait to see you in it.”

Geralt’s breath hitches again. “Oh,” he says, “you… really meant it.”

Jaskier decides to _not_ take offense at the fact that Geralt had assumed he might _not_ have meant it. It’s not as if he doesn’t know _why_ he would, and he knows it’s not personal. He tries to quell down the slightly homicidal instinct that takes hold of him every single time Geralt says something that shows how much he assumes people _wouldn’t_ give a shit about what he actually wants and moves his fingers to the laces of Geralt’s trousers instead.

“Sure I did. Told you,” he says, slowly unlacing them, and Geralt does _not_ stop him, “there’s nothing I would enjoy more than fucking you _properly_ while you’re wearing good silks.” He opens the trousers enough to pull them down and show the silken teal smallclothes underneath, running his fingers over the ribbon on the waist, feeling Geralt shudder as he does. “And I’m _really_ glad you’re wearing them as they’re meant to. I suppose they’re comfortable?”

“They - feel good,” Geralt agrees, his voice getting rougher, and fuck, Jaskier really wants to suck him off again, but then he realizes that he actually hadn’t seen how the red ones had looked _from behind_ now.

“Yeah?” Jaskier says, standing up slowly. “Good. Hey, wait, turn around, I need to see the whole picture. I didn’t yesterday, after all.”

Geralt nods and _does_ , nodding quickly, and _oh_ , fuck, he was right - the silk falls so well on the other man’s ass, showing _perfectly_ all the curves, and the contrast with the leather just underneath… Jaskier wishes he was a painter right now because now _that_ would deserve to be reproduced in more than a few oils, but that was sadly not where his skills with the arts landed. He supposes a very private ode for his own ears only will have to suffice.

But for now -

He takes a step forward, then moves in front of Geralt and reaches out, grasping his ass through the silk, and Geralt moans loud enough that they certainly must have been heard in the next room over, at least.

Not that Jaskier gives a fuck about _that_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he blurts, “it’s a crime you’ve never worn something like that until now. They’re _made_ for you.”

Geralt moans again, tentatively pushing himself closer, his trousers falling down to the ground before he kicks them to the side, and Jaskier reaches up to kiss him as his fingers slide beneath the waist and he squeezes at that firm, _firm_ flesh, and then pushes Geralt closer, moving his other hand under his loosened shirt to the small of his back. Geralt whines into his mouth, his own arms around Jaskier’s shoulders tight enough that for a moment he feels short of breath, but shit, his blood is running so hot he could burst.

“Tell me,” he says as he breaks apart for air, “ _how_ it feels good.”

“Jaskier -”

“Come on,” he pushes a bit, “I want to know. Are they soft?”

“Yes,” Geralt blurts, pressing back against his hand’s touch. “So much.”

“And you _like_ it?” He goes on, both hands moving to Geralt’s hips.

He feels Geralt nodding against him before they kiss again - good enough, and Jaskier doesn’t waste time before letting one of his hands slip down inside Geralt’s smallclothes and another to the back of his head, grasping at his hair and starting to stroke through the soft white strands of it, making it as slow and careful as he can in the heat of the moment, as he starts jerking him off, and _fuck_ but the feeling of that silk is pretty damn _nice_ , and considering how Geralt seems to be allergic to even get himself _basic_ niceties, it does absolutely make sense that he would want to wear this but thought he _couldn’t_.

Well then.

“Good,” Jaskier says, “because believe me, seeing you in them is killing me in all the best ways.” He goes a bit faster, a bit _faster_ , and Geralt’s about _this_ close, and fuck, he has to -

“Wait,” he says, and ignores how Geralt whines in protest when he stops just when he was _this_ close - he drops to his knees, moves the smallclothes down and takes Geralt in his mouth, and he knows he won’t last long but _fuck_ he couldn’t resist, and a moment later Geralt’s hands are on his shoulders and it doesn’t take Jaskier long to make him come - he sucks him fast and steady and keeps his hands around Geralt’s thighs where he moved the smallclothes down, and when Geralt comes with a strangled groan of pleasure he swallows almost greedily, and _fuck_ he thinks he came in his own damned smallclothes again, which is why he’s _definitely_ not going to do this when the dress comes because he’d like to last long enough to actually fuck the man, but - never mind that. He moves away, pulling the smallclothes back up, running his hands over Geralt’s sides, under the shirt, and then stands back up. Geralt has his eyes closed, but when Jaskier leans forward to kiss him he moans into it, kissing him back at once, and a moment later they fall on the bed, and Geralt _tries_ to protest when Jaskier moves on top of him and pushes his shoulders to the mattress.

“Hey,” he says, “I just want to look at you properly.”

“You’ve seen me,” he protests, and the fact that his cheeks are flushing as he says it really doesn’t help making him sound as menacing as he most likely hopes. “Come back down.”

“Aw,” Jaskier replies, “if you ask so _nicely_ , but just you wait a moment.” He leans down, places a kiss right over the ribbon just under Geralt’s navel, feeling him shudder underneath, and then moves back up, kissing him again, smiling into it when Geralt’s ankle hooks with the back of his leg.

Damn, he thinks as he pictures the two of them on this bed three days from now with Geralt _finally_ in the proper get-up, he can’t _wait_ to take his time with him. And if for the next two days he plans to make sure Geralt _stops_ feeling self-conscious about the smallclothes, at least… well, he’s entirely looking forward to it.

\--

On day three, he goes to the tailor’s in the afternoon, and he doesn’t fail to notice that Geralt not only _doesn’t_ take contracts, but also asks for a bath to be brought up to their room while Jaskier is out. He was looking kind of unsure as he did, but Jaskier hasn’t put himself in the middle of it when he’s asking for it _for once_ , and so he heads off and when he comes into the shop, not only the tailor has the finished product, but - it’s also beyond Jaskier’s wildest expectations. He waits until it’s folded and safely tucked inside another bag he brought with, gives the tailor a few extra coins because it was _that_ good a dress, and heads back up to the inn. When he walks inside the room, Geralt is sitting on the bed, wearing one of his clean shirts and a pair of linen trousers he only puts on to sleep or when he’s resting from a particularly difficult hunt, and -

“Oh,” Jaskier says, delighted, “you _did_ hear me this morning.”

When he told Geralt to _wear the golden smallclothes_ before he left the bed and went on to wash himself, and Geralt had grunted and turned to his other side and kept on sleeping for another half hour.

Geralt says nothing but shrugs in recognition, and Jaskier lets that go. It’s not like he doesn’t know that he’s most likely freaking the hell out and he doesn’t intend to make it harder than it has to be, especially when he wants Geralt to _not_ work himself up about this.

“Excellent,” he says, placing the bag on the nearest chair. “So, should I take it out? It came out _beautifully_.”

“All - all right,” Geralt finally nods, and Jaskier thinks he’s never seen him look _that_ insecure, which for a man who kills monsters for a living and likes to think he doesn’t have feelings is… well, kind of endearing, but he’s not going to make him notice it. _But_ , now that he takes a good look at him, he has noticed that Geralt _did_ wash his hair, _properly_ (so he _does_ know how to, he just doesn’t bother), but it’s barely brushed.

Jaskier is going to enjoy the _shit_ out of this.

He opens the bag and unfolds the dress, immediately hearing Geralt gasp as he does, and why wouldn’t he? He chose a satin of the same plum color as the maid’s dress for it, and had the tailor sew the dress with a waist moved up, tied with a golden small ribbon so that it would fall loose and hide the lack of curves, with a large round neckline and elbow-length sleeves with a silken frill just underneath that covers up until half of the forearm; the underskirts are in white silk, and the hems of both sleeves and skirt have a simple golden embroidery for which he has absolutely paid extra, but matches so well with those smallclothes, he could barely resist it when the tailor presented the option. To finish it off, the back is laced with a long golden ribbon, and really, Jaskier has rarely been so satisfied with how he has spent his money on anything in his entire life.

“So,” he says, “shall we?”

Geralt is staring like he _really_ wants to put it on, but then he stands up very uncertainly. “Isn’t it - too much?”

Jaskier can hear what he actually asked.

“Absolutely not,” he says, “I _did_ say I was going to give you a proper one. Come on, I’ll lace it up, then I’m doing your hair. Off with that shirt.”

Geralt’s throat is working up and down _very_ fast as he takes off the shirt and stands there in just golden smallclothes and nothing else, and Jaskier decides to _not_ stare at his ass too long and moves closer instead, lowering the dress to the ground - Geralt cautiously steps inside it as if he was walking into a kikimora’s nest, probably with more caution than he’d put into actually walking into one, and Jaskier makes nothing of it or of informing him of it as Geralt’s shaking hands slide inside the sleeves. When he has both on, Jaskier proceeds on lacing up the dress - he inserts the golden ribbon inside the holes in the back and quickly crosses them with the experience of someone who has both laced and unlaced many a dress in his life, and then ties it on top. He already can see that the fit is perfect, but before going to the front, he thinks there’s something else he should do first.

“Right,” he says, “on the bed. If we have to do this right, we _are_ doing it.”

“Wait, what -”

“Do you think I don’t know how proper ladies braid their hair? Come on, it’ll take me a moment.”

Geralt doesn’t move for a moment but then he does go sit, giving Jaskier the back, and Jaskier _knows_ he’s keeping his eyes closed, but never mind _that_. It’s quite all right. He’ll work on that later. Now he’ll do something that’s exceedingly familiar for both so they can ease into it.

He grabs a brush from his bag and spends the next few minutes making sure Geralt’s hair is knot-free, using both brush and his fingers

( _after all, they do this all the time and it's probably going to ease Geralt into it, so he's not going to rush it_ )

then takes a chunk from both sides of his head and twists both slowly until they join in the middle of the back of his head, then ties them with a smaller golden ribbon that he got for free and runs his hands through the loose hair underneath a few times to make sure it sticks in place. It’s _soft,_ and he’ll look forward to running his hands through it _later_ , but now he thinks he wants to see the results of his hard work.

He stands up, moving in front of the bed.

“Come on,” he says, “let me see the full picture.”

Geralt stands up hesitantly, still not opening his eyes, and _holy shit_ it’s a damn crime that he wouldn’t, because Jaskier thinks his blood is all rushing south _fast_. The fit is perfect, and the sleeves show just a bit of forearm _and_ his hands, which means that while it makes Geralt’s shoulders look smaller it doesn’t hide the muscle on his arms, and the length had the hem barely touching the ground, so it won’t need further adjustments. There’s no illusion of breasts, not without corsets underneath, but given the high waistline it doesn’t really matter, and the color really compliments Geralt’s pale skin as much as the ones he chose for the smallclothes did, and he can see a hint of underskirt below the hems, and -

Shit.

He needs to get a grip.

And there’s a mirror in the other corner of the room.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jaskier whispers, moving back behind Geralt and gently ushering him towards the mirror, “you look _gorgeous_.”

“I doubt -”

“You look like you were born to wear it and I don’t want to hear excuses until you actually _see_ yourself in it. Come on, here you are, just look. Whenever you want.” He’s not going to push it, but he doesn’t have to - Geralt breathes in and out a couple of times, then Jaskier moves up to him, putting an arm around his waist, and at _that_ he breathes out again and opens his eyes and looks into the mirror, and -

Shit.

That golden thread _really_ brings out his eyes, Jaskier decides, taking in the sight of Geralt _staring_ at his reflection like he can’t recognize it, his neatly braided hair falling over his shoulders, and he just stands there as Geralt cautiously runs his fingers over the ribbon in the center of his chest and then over the satin underneath, and when he moves a hand up to his heart… well.

It’s beating like a regular person’s in their sleep, which means that it’s most likely racing, for _him_.

“So,” he asks, grasping tighter around the man’s waist, “is this what you wanted?”

Geralt nods brusquely, his hand grasping at Jaskier’s arm. “I - more than,” he manages, “but -”

“No _but_ s,” Jaskier cuts him off. “It looks like you were born to wear it, and all that gold pairs so well with your eyes, it’s a damn pity you can’t wear it next time we have to go to some royal party. But if you could… now _that_ would be lovely.”

“You don’t mean -”

“ _Please_ , I mean it. Actually -” He takes a step back. “Give it a go.”

“With _what_?”

“Turn on yourself. I mean, twirl.”

“I’m not -”

“Half of the fun of those dresses is how those skirts about fly up when you do. Come on, it’s not like anyone else is watching you.”

He moves back enough to leave Geralt enough space to do it, and after a bit he stops stalling and does it and the skirts rise up for a moment as he does, and _fuck_ but Jaskier really wishes they could dance properly now because that would be a sight, but - well.

Maybe one day when they’re in an inn with _another_ bard playing downstairs… that could be done.

For now, Geralt is breathing in like he just slew a monster and not like he made good use of that dress, and then he tentatively does it again with wide eyes and half-parted lips like he’s not even sure he _really_ is doing it -

Ah, damn it, he can hold back until a certain point - Jaskier moves forward and in front of Geralt and puts a hand on his waist and another grasps his hand. “Mind if I lead you to bed, _my lady_? Next time there’s music downstairs I _will_ ask for a proper dance.”

For a moment Geralt goes still, but then he looks back at him with the eyes of someone who is completely out of his element before he nods once, and Jaskier slowly, _slowly_ moves them over to the bed, not changing positions, and then _slowly_ lowers Geralt down on it, and now all of it is covered in satin skirt and Jaskier is sure he’s going to _burst_ here.

 _He_ takes a breath so he doesn’t completely lose his shit just at looking at how Geralt’s spread underneath him, skirts covering his legs and silk-covered arms lying on the mattress, golden eyes staring into his expectantly, and then he reaches for the vial of chamomile oil he had kept in a pocket inside his jacket before throwing that on the ground, too. Then he places it on the nearest nightstand, kicks off his shoes and makes his way upward, leaning down and kissing Geralt very, very softly as his knees circle his waist.

He remembers what Geralt asked him last time even too well. And it’s not like he would do any differently, but if Geralt wants him to proceed as he would with a noble lady… well. He’s more than glad to do it.

“You are,” he whispers, “ _enchanting_ , this evening.”

“I’m not -” Geralt croaks, but Jaskier kisses him again, cutting that off.

“You _are_. Your hair,” he goes on, carding into a few unbraided locks, slow, taking his time with it, “is softer than any of the silks you’re wearing, and it pairs so well with this color. And the gold is just so _perfect_ with those eyes of yours.”

Geralt moans into his mouth when Jaskier immediately bends down to kiss him, and so what if his hands _might_ be disrupting his careful braiding? He can re-do it later.

“And the plum is just _lovely_ ,” Jaskier keeps on, running his fingers through undone twirls of soft white hair all over again, feeling Geralt arch into his touch.

“ _You_ picked it,” Geralt mutters.

“Oh, no, you kind of did,” Jaskier shakes his head, “I _saw_ you staring at that maid who had a dress in the same color. Did you think it would look good on you? Because you would have been right.”

“No,” Geralt admits, “I - I just liked it.” He’s still not quite looking at him, but he’s also _admitting preferences_ , so Jaskier chalks it as a win.

“Then you have excellent taste.” He leans down, kisses Geralt’s cheek, then the other. “And I cannot wait to see what’s under that skirt.”

Geralt _moans_ at that, and Jaskier immediately moves back a bit, raising the first plum satin layer first, uncovering the satin white underskirts, there’s _two_ of them, and touches Geralt’s thighs through that layer, and Geralt arches up into it, moaning harder when Jaskier moves farther back, kisses both his naked ankles and then slowly, slowly rolls up the underskirts until they’re bunched up around Geralt’s waist and he’s presented with that golden silken pair of smallclothes under which Geralt is hard enough it _has_ to hurt by now.

Jaskier is really tempted to suck him off again, but he has realized that it’s not a good idea if he wants to actually have enough stamina to fuck him proper, and so -

They can always do that later. He puts his hands on the smallclothes, then raises an eyebrow.

“May I?” He asks, winking at Geralt.

“Please,” Geralt breathes out, still looking up at him like he can’t believe this is happening, and so Jaskier slowly, _slowly_ pulls the smallclothes off, letting them fall to the ground delicately, and then reaching for the oil on the nightstand. He coats his fingertips in it, _very_ glad that he bought a new bottle just for today, and then locks eyes again with Geralt.

“Spread your legs, darling,” he says, and Geralt does it, slowly but surely, and Jaskier smooths away some of that satin with his free hand before teasing at the rim of Geralt’s ass, and while he’s _extremely_ tempted to lean down and touch his cock, he also wants to see how far he can push it and most of all how far Geralt wants him to go, so he doesn’t and coats his fingers in more oil before pushing them in a bit farther, and it’s not like Geralt can’t take it because they’ve done this enough times that he _knows_ exactly how much, but - that’s not the point now, is it?

He slides his fingers in deeper, coats them in oil again, and then moves his free hand to Geralt’s cheek, the rest of his finger sliding through his hair all over again, cupping the back of his head.

“That good?” He asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” Geralt moans, sounding breathless.

“Want some more?”

“ _Please_ ,” Geralt answers, and Jaskier pushes his fingers in _deeper_ , and then manages to pour some oil on them again one-handed because Geralt is about nuzzling into his palm and there is no way he’s moving his other hand away now. He leans down as he works Geralt open a bit further, still going as slow as he can, and _then_ he pushes them in _further_ and Geralt arches up at once right as Jaskier hits the right spot, and fuck he really wants to be inside him but he’s not going to ruin things by rushing it. Not when Geralt’s getting harder under his eyes and Jaskier’s not even touching him _there_ and there’s all that satin and silk around his thighs and the more time passes the more he sees Geralt’s shoulders losing tension.

He leans down, kissing his forehead first and his mouth later before taking his hand away, except that Geralt turns his head before he can do it and kisses his palm and Jaskier is about to _burst_ here.

“You’re so _good_ to me,” Jaskier whispers leaning down, and Geralt half shakes his head in denial he kisses him again, reaching for the oil. “Now just let me do this and I’ll be back to you in a moment.” He pours more oil on his palm, coats his own dick in it trying desperately to make it as clinical as possible because he _could_ come by jerking himself off very quickly, and that’s not what he wants now. He breathes in, then moves his hands to Geralt’s shoulders.

“Come on,” he says, “legs behind my back, _good_ , that’s perfect,” he goes on as Geralt hooks his calves behind him, and then moves into position and starts pushing, and _oh_ , good thing he used most of that oil because he can slide in with barely any resistance, but he still takes it slow and goes in inch by inch, as slow as he can manage, moving a hand to Geralt’s side and grasping the satin in between his fingers, and then moves the other behind his neck, grasping at Geralt’s hair and pulling a bit, and Geralt makes a noise that about turns Jaskier’s blood so hot he feels like he’ll explode, so he leans down and kisses him as he fucks into him a bit faster, making sure to hit right in the _right_ place, and oh, he can feel Geralt leaking against his stomach as he moves closer every time he fucks into him and maybe he should touch him but he wants to see if -

“Hey,” he moans, “ _fuck_ , you’re so damn wet for me, I can’t believe that, I’ve been with ladies that weren’t as much as you are right now -”

Geralt _whines_ into his mouth, his hands grasping at Jaskier’s shoulders, hoisting himself up, and Jaskier immediately helps him upwards, his fingers closing around the neckline of the dress, his mouth finding Geralt’s as he keeps on sliding in and out - there’s satin pressing up against Jaskier’s chest, and he holds Geralt closer, _closer_ , and when they part for air he fucks into him a bit harder.

“You’re taking me so _well_ ,” he goes on, “and you look so _pretty_ like this, no, don’t go and say you’re not, _I_ have to judge, don’t I?”

“ _How_ ,” Geralt chokes out as he cants his hips upward, and oh, Jaskier could write _a lot_ of poetry on how he looks right now, but he’s kind of beyond metaphors right _now_ , so he’ll have to make do.

“I don’t know,” he says, sliding back and then inside again, “your eyes are fucking _glowing_ right now, do you know that?”

“They’re not -”

“They _are_ ,” Jaskier retorts, and he’s not lying - that golden amber looks like it’s fucking shining, and combined with Geralt’s cheeks being flushed and his lips just a bit swollen from kissing he looks positively _lovely_ , now if only Geralt would accept a compliment, “and do you realize that I’ve met noblewomen that would have _killed_ for hair like this?” He pulls a bit, not enough to hurt, and Geralt makes that sound _again_ and fuck, Jaskier is about to lose it here, and Geralt’s so hard against him he’s pretty sure he won’t last long but he’ll keep his rhythm for now - he wants Geralt to come first, or he wants to try at least. “And this fits you so _well_ ,” he goes on, “you’re a damned marvel, I could look at you wearing it every time we do this -”

“You _could_?” Geralt chokes out again, and Jaskier can feel that his heart must be racing for witcher standards, and _shit_ he’s about to lose it here -

“ _Yes_ ,” he says, kissing him again, “come on, I want to see if you can come on me just like this. Could you?”

“I - yes, I think -”

“Then I’m just waiting,” he says, leaning down for another kiss and slamming down inside Geralt _harder_ , and - and then Geralt moans into his mouth and grasps at his shoulders hard enough to hurt, his legs clutching at Jaskier’s back as he _finally_ lets go against him, and it’s just - Jaskier can’t hold back anymore and let’s a rush of pleasure wash through him as he comes, too, with Geralt clenching around him as he still rides out his own orgasm and _fuck_ , the moment he feels the silk move against his back because Geralt pulled him _closer_ he thinks he might pass out for how fucking _good_ that felt, and by the time he’s spent he’s fallen on top of Geralt’s chest and they’re both taking in deep breaths and _he_ is filthy and the silk of the underskirt is definitely going to be stained, but he’ll wash it soon. And hopefully he won’t feel like doing this _again_ in five minutes just at the sight of it. He raises his head, meeting Geralt’s eyes again, a sliver of gold with blown pupils at the moment, and he leans down again to kiss him slowly as he pulls out, not breaking the hold Geralt has on his shoulders while he moves down to the side, a hand going to the small of Geralt’s back where his fingers brush along the golden ribbon while the other cups his face again.

“Fuck,” he says, “that was - we can do it again, _right_?”

Geralt sends him a look that definitely belongs on someone who hadn’t been expecting _that_ one question. “Do… do you want to?” He asks, and now he sounds _hopeful_ , what the -

“ _Of course_ I want to,” he says, “I think it’s obvious that I liked it _very_ much.”

Geralt nods once, still looking a bit dazed and a bit like he can’t grasp it, and so Jaskier moves even closer, their lips brushing -

“Why,” he asks, “were you thinking I didn’t?”

***

“Why,” Jaskier whispers against his mouth, “were you thinking I didn’t?”

Thing is, it’s not that Geralt thought he didn’t, it’s just that… he’s still not quite sure he entirely believes that Jaskier _would_ , but how is he even supposed to make sense of it when he spent more time than he cares to count wondering how it would feel to be in the position he is right now and never once thought there would be a chance in hell it might happen?

It’s just - he doesn’t even remember when it started, just that at some point one of the whores he has occasionally paid through the years had thrown a silk chemise in his face while she was undressing, and he could smell fear she was trying to hold back on her, but the moment he had felt how soft and delicate it was he had forgotten it for a moment, and then he couldn’t help thinking, _and what if I could_ -, and then he had stopped the train of thought right _there_ because that’s just _not_ the kind of clothing that _exists_ when it comes to choose what to wear. No one wears silk or _soft_ clothing when your job is hunting monsters, and the worst thing was that every time he thought about maybe wearing such cloth but cut for men, it made his stomach turn on itself. The mere idea was just unthinkable and he knows he’s not… cut for _that_. Fancy doublets and silken trousers would just make him look ridiculous and not… well, not like the part, and witchers can’t afford not to.

But the idea of being something completely different, of drowning his roughened skin into soft, airy silks just made his stomach turn in a wholly different way, and he’s always known it was nonsensical, that even in the remote case he could actually find clothing cut for a woman that would fit him… it’s not as if anyone would think it anything but grotesque at best, and who even would think that someone such as _him_ could or _would_ like to be treated like - like ladies that usually wore silks would be. He never even let himself think about it in his wildest fantasies, only ever let himself stare longingly at girls wearing the actual garments, wondering briefly if wearing any of them would be less heavy than his armor and feel less constricting than leather, but that was it. And he thought he had been stealthy. He thought no one would notice, it’s not as if people ever notice _him_ in that sense - they usually do if they have to hire him or glare at him.

He should have guessed that Jaskier _would_ have been an exception, and that he _would_ figure it out.

He wouldn’t have dreamed that he actually would _go through with it_ , but he _did_ and all evidence points to the fact that not only he still finds Geralt desirable like _this_ but maybe even more so than usual, which is something he’s not sure he can wrap his head around for now, but - well. No one comes untouched in his own breeches like Jaskier did _before_ when it was just the smallclothes unless he finds that… appealing.

And gods, the smallclothes had been… more than appealing. He had felt like his cheeks were burning from the inside the morning when he cautiously put a pair on and laced his leather trousers around it, but after half an hour he had to admit to himself, they were so much more comfortable and soft than his old pair, and just thinking that he had _them_ under his usual clothing had made him flush in all the good ways, and then Jaskier had shown up with that gown worthy of a damned royal ball and he hadn’t known what to do with himself except go for it and follow the lead, and it had been _more_ than he had even dared fantasize back in the day -

But somehow he hadn’t figured out that it wasn’t a one time deal, which considering how Jaskier is looking at him right now is most likely a completely foolish notion, because no one staring at him like he’s the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen in their entire life wouldn’t want to do it again. And yet -

And yet he had, and he doesn’t know how to say, and for once he hates how he can’t _talk_ about any of this unless Jaskier manages to get it out of him, but he knows he has to, or at least he has to throw him a hint, and suddenly all that softness he’s currently surrounded with doesn’t feel so… strange anymore.

“No,” he finally says, “it’s… obvious.”

Jaskier half-smiles, his arm around Geralt’s waist pulling him closer. “Then I think you can give me a bit to recover and then we can absolutely do it. And we can do it any damn time you want to, for that matter.”

It sounds too good, and before he can start doubting it he leans in for another kiss, moaning into it when Jaskier immediately reciprocates, his other hand still carding through his hair so slowly, so carefully

( ~~ _so lovingly_~~ )

and that’s actually not any news because he’d do that any other time, and it feels already too familiar and gods, everything he’s been taught says he shouldn’t want this, he should run away from it, but he doesn’t think he cares for that very much right now.

Actually, not at all.

“For that matter,” Jaskier whispers when he moves back, and now he’s looking at Geralt with the same glint in his eyes that he gets every single time he’s planning _something_ , “you know we could do _more_ , right?”

“... How?” His traitorous tongue speaks before he can say that it’s fine like this, it’s already beyond his wildest fantasies -

Jaskier’s arm loosens his grip, his hand curling around the fabric bunched around his hip. “You know I could braid your hair nicer than _that_. Next time I play for some noble I can definitely see what’s the latest style.”

The idea of Jaskier braiding his hair _that_ thoroughly shouldn’t sound as appealing as it is right now. And yet, and yet he thinks he might want it.

“Other than that,” he goes on, “I could paint your eyes. And your lips, in case. And the next time we’re in an inn with other musicians available, I’m _absolutely_ dancing with you, it’s a crime that you wouldn’t when that dress is made for it.”

He had expected the latter.

The former, though -

He had never considered _that_ , but now that he does, gods now that he does he thinks his heartbeat is speeding up again, and the more he considers it the more he knows he _wants_ it, oh he _does_ , and his throat goes dry just at the idea of Jaskier’s hands on his face for _that_ one purpose, and -

“Depends on how far you want to bring it,” Jaskier finally says, as if it’s fine if he says no to any of that, and if he wasn’t sure before that Jaskier was going to be the death of him now he _is_ , but at this point he thinks he rather welcomes it. It certainly would be a better death than any he has envisioned for himself throughout his entire life.

“What - what if I would like it? Both, I mean.” The words slip past his lips more easily than he had assumed, maybe because for once he’s feeling like he _can_ , with fingers still carding through his hair and all that soft, pretty silk surrounding him.

The fact that Jaskier looks back at him like it was just the answer he was hoping for makes the residual weight on his chest lift, if only just for now.

“Then you should have both,” Jaskier replies, as easy as _that_ , “and I guess that I can start looking for paints from tomorrow. Now if my lady agrees, I could do with some more kissing before round two.”

Geralt can feel blood rushing hotter and his heartbeat speed up a tiny bit again at _that_ , and gods he would like that, he would like that so very much -

“I agree,” he blurts, and then Jaskier’s hands are on his face, still kissing him so very softly, the way he always sees ladies being kissed from afar, and he closes his eyes, sighing into it.

“Good,” Jaskier whispers, moving back, and then he leans down but his lips touch the shell of his ear and not his mouth as he had thought, “and for that matter, I think that if we save enough coin in the next few weeks, I could absolutely commission _another_ gown. Because let me tell you, that teal would look downright astonishing on you. Maybe with a nice corset going with, nothing too constricting but enough to make that work. How about _that_?”

Oh.

_Oh._

He hadn’t - he hadn’t thought that far, but then he pictures Jaskier actually lacing one up, he imagines Jaskier fucking into him while he wears _both_ , and he doesn’t have time to stop the moan in the back of his throat that he lets out as he considers the scenario.

“Was that a yes?” Jaskier replies, still so sure of it, still sounding like he’s discussing nothing of great import and Geralt could kiss him for that, for how he’s not treating this like it’s such a big deal, and he can only nod a bit before moving in closer, throwing a leg over Jaskier’s, dress and all, as he leans closer and gives him a real answer just this close to his lips, because he deserves to hear one -

“It was,” he whispers, quietly but surely, and then Jaskier’s mouth is on his again and he stops thinking about anything else except wondering how long they can make round two last, or maybe even round three.

They _do_ have all night, after all.

End.


End file.
